"Careful," Simmons warned. The chemicals she was working with in the Academy lab were highly volatile, but since Fitz had a chem lab pass, he'd agreed to help her with some of the grunt work for next week's lab prep.
"I know," Fitz said, annoyed. She'd only said it a hundred times so far, and he wasn't about to fool around with stuff like this. It'd eat his flesh clean down to the bone if he got sloppy, and while he could probably stand to lose a pound or two in the event they ever went into the field (which wasn't likely), acid might be more painful than running.
He successfully set the test tube in its slot above the Bunsen burner, and Simmons shooed him away so she could work her biochem magic on it.
"I need the other one, too," she said.
He picked it up with the tongs from its resting station and carried it over to her workstation, watching it closely. He slid the test tube into the slot she pointed to and set the tongs down. "What about the beaker?"
"Yes, please, but don't walk too fast or it'll spill out the top—pentamic acid doesn't like a lot of movement."
Fitz had never heard of pentamic acid, but he supposed she knew what she was doing. He pulled on thick gloves and slowly picked up the beaker. The moment he lifted it off the table, he knew exactly what she meant. The liquid sloshed wildly around the beaker at the slightest movement, and though there were only a couple of millilitres in the container, the liquid jumped as high as the 700mL line—almost three-quarters of the way up the glass.
It wasn't even a proper stumble, really. He just set his foot down a little too hard and it made his whole body move the wrong way—not even a lurch! But the jumpy liquid disagreed. It sloshed out the top of the container straight onto Fitz's jumper, and the wool instantly started smoking. Startled, he dropped the container. It shattered, making Simmons squeak, but the entire contents of the container had leapt onto Fitz's chest.
He seized the back of his collar and yanked the jumper off over his head, followed in quick succession by the white collared shirt he wore under it, and then both of the gloves. He'd been fast enough to keep the acid from burning his skin, but not fast enough to keep it from burning a hole like a cannonball wound in the thick knit. The white shirt, too, was stained an orange-brown where the acid had singed it, but there had not been enough contact for the acid to burn completely through the shirt.
"Fitz! Are you burnt? Did the acid get through your shirt?"
Fitz shook his head. "No. I'm alright. Sorry I ruined your experiment."
Simmons picked the jumper up by an untainted sleeve and flung it into the hazard bin, and Fitz threw the white shirt after it. The gloves were unharmed, and Fitz started to pick up the broken pieces of glass (they were surprisingly clean). The panic over, Jemma's mouth unleashed a torrent of apology. "No, no. It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you carry that without full splash gear; it's incredibly dangerous and it might have—"
He interrupted her, dumping a handful of glass into the hazard bin with his still-smoking clothes. "Yes, I'm absolutely torn up that you ruined my favorite jumper."
The comment stopped her in her tracks. Was he serious, or was that sarcasm? Was he annoyed with her for putting him in danger?
Fitz pulled off the gloves and set them on the counter next to her Bunsen burner. "I'm kidding. I've got other jumpers, and honestly I was a bit fed up with that one anyway. D'you see how big it was? I swear it ate all my socks."
Simmons giggled despite her worry. "I am really sorry. I should have given you a splash guard."
"I know all the chem lab safety rules, too, Simmons. It's not your fault the acid jumped on me. Why's it do that, anyway?"
Simmons shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't think it's from Earth, though."
"Is the whole experiment ruined, then?"
"No. I just have to get another beaker from Containment. I'm not going to fail chemistry just because you've got elephant feet."
"I've got elephant feet?" Fitz balked. "What about you? Always stomping around when I'm trying to study. Speaking of, I've got an exam tomorrow, and I really ought to get back to the books." He pointed behind him, toward the door. The air con vent above him kicked on just then, and he remembered that he wasn't wearing a shirt. "Uh, d'you have something I can wear? It's a bit cold."
"Can't walk back to the dorm without a shirt?" Jemma teased. "I might have an extra lab coat, so long as you promise not to spill any acid on it."
"Sure," he said, and when she went to the supply closet to find it, he muttered, "Why's it always me in trouble for spilling things?"